


Hard Way Home

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Kings of Nowhere [48]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Michael never planned to stay in Los Santos.At most it was a stop-over. Just a place to take a break before moving on, but then he met Gavin – or maybe it would be more appropriate to say Gavin happenedtohim.





	Hard Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Queen-Bitchiest who asked for FAHC Myan where the Fakes hire Mogar and the Vagabond seperately not realizing they know each other and try to decide if they hate each other. (It turns out they were together the whole time or there was something between them in the past they're trying to work out now.)
> 
> >:D

Michael’s in a dingy little dive bar when someone sidles over. Expensive clothes and too much gold hanging off him for a place like this, but for whatever reason no one’s paying him the slightest bit of attention.

“Hello,” the guy says, British accent and something to it that instantly annoys Michael.

The kind of asshole who thinks he’s _something_.

Michael sets his beer down and looks the guy over. 

He’s not unattractive. Tends more towards lean than wiry, and he holds himself with an easy confidence that doesn’t seem to be born of arrogance. Has this little smile on his face as he watches Michael watching him.

“Fuck off,” Michael says, because whatever this asshole wants, it can’t be good for him.

The guy makes this sad little noise like Michael’s hurt his feelings, but he doesn’t go away.

No.

He sits on the stool next to Michael and signals the jaded bastard of a bartender for a drink with one of his bright smiles. Leans his chin on his hand as he regards Michael.

Michael scowls at him and goes back to his beer. It’s watered down as fuck, but it’s been a long day and Michael’s too tired to give much of a damn. 

“I’ve heard about you,” the guy says, clearly the kind of asshole who never learned to take a hint. “Michael, right?”

Michael slants a look at him. 

This asshole in his fancy clothes and all that shiny gold in some shitty little bar who just happened to hone in on Michael.

Michael’s done a few jobs here and there since he got to Los Santos. Took the time to figure out the lay of the land and put some money in his pockets after so long on the move. Might have gained a bit of a reputation for himself in the short time he’s been here, but nothing solid.

“Look,” Michael says, slow and patient, because the guy’s obviously an idiot. “I know it’s noisy in here, so let me say it again since you didn’t hear me the first time. Fuck _off_ ”

The guy laughs, eyes crinkling with it.

“My name’s Gavin,” he says, ignoring the scowl Michael’s sending his way. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Michael stares at him, but Gavin just _smiles_.

“Let me buy you a drink, yeah?” Gavin offers, flicking a hand at Michael's beer. “That one’s done for, isn’t it?”

Michael’s not so stupid he’ll turn down a free drink, and if Gavin’s not going to take the hint to leave him the fuck alone, it’s the least he can do.

“Sure,” he says. “And maybe when you’re done beating around the bush you can tell me what you really want.”

Asshole doesn’t belong in a place like this, and while everyone else here is carefully not paying attention to him, they’re very much aware of him.

Gavin’s grin widens as he claps a hand on Michael’s shoulder like they’re old friends. Just laughs when Michael shakes his hand off because yeah, _no_.

“I like you already,” he says, like he thinks Michael actually gives a shit, and calls the bartender over.

========

_Michael grew up listening to the stories his dad’s friends told about the good old days, rounding up criminals like it was the wild west all over again. All the shit they’d get up to chasing after a bounty, carefully edited to leave out the bits where things went wrong. The gruesome details of that time it got Michael’s dad killed. (Made him out to be a hero, because he was a kid and that’s what people do.)_

_Left his mom with kids to raise on her own and this group of assholes falling all over themselves with guilt like they were the ones who pulled the trigger. Idiots who stuck around after his dad died and helped out, taught Michael and his brothers the things his dad never got the chance to._

_And it wasn’t like he was going to become the doctor his mom wanted him to be. (Doctor, lawyer, something that would make sure he had a good life.)_

_He’s not an idiot, but he’s not a brainiac either, and he hated school. Hated the way the teachers looked at him and saw some charity case, this stupid kid with the sob story about a dead dad and a mom who worked two jobs to get by. Brothers who were smarter than him and got a ticket to a better life through scholarships while he barely scraped by with passing grades. Someone who didn’t play along when they played the part of well-meaning adult helping him unlock his full potential like there was something wrong with him and not the fucking system._

_Took him too fucking long to realize people didn’t give much of a shit if he had a high school diploma or a GED. Weren’t too hung up on the details as long as he had the right credentials, showed he could get the job done in a (mostly) legal fashion._

_He worked with his dad’s friends, assholes who might as well have been blood by that point. Studied hard to pass the GED and worked on making sure he had the skills that would keep him alive since he was so determined to be that stupid._

_Doubled down when it came to working on his marksmanship, took him to the gym to put more muscle on him. Taught him how to do more than throw a punch, because any idiot could do that._

_They taught him to how to survive a bar fight in more or less one piece. (Practical demonstration on that one, and if his mom ever finds out about he’s a dead man for sure.)_

_Took him along with them on jobs for the first year or so until they thought he was ready to go off on his own._

_His mom wasn’t thrilled, this pinched expression on her face when she found up what he’d been up to, and it got a him a lecture or two. All about how real life wasn’t like the movies, or the stories he’d grown up listening to. That things had changed since the days his dad used to run around with them, the world getting meaner because that’s how it goes when you fill it with assholes and hand them guns._

_Michael was too stubborn to listen, or maybe just too stupid, because it paid well._

_Good enough to move out of his mom’s house and get a place of his own. Trade in the car he’d been driving since high school for something less likely to die on him if he pushed it past fifty. Enough to think he was doing okay for himself._

_And for a while he was, but then he took a shortcut through an alley one day._

_Car in the shop just a few blocks from home with a rainstorm threatening to let loose at any time, and he figured why the hell not cut through a dark alley? This place where bodies had been found in the past. Poor bastards who ran out of luck and ended up on the wrong side of a gun or knife or met with death some other grisly manner._

_What could possibly go wrong?_

(Everything.)

========

Gavin’s part of a crew here in Los Santos. Bunch of assholes who seem to think they’re a big deal, and they’re planning a heist.

The two of them have moved to a booth in the back of the bar where it’s a little quieter. Less people around to hear the details of the job offer Gavin has for him.

Something about fucking over this businessman with criminal ties and other stuff thrown in there that sounds like the worst kind of conspiracy theory. Comes complete with crooked politicians and shady cops, no one really knowing how far up it goes and so on and so on and so on.

All this, and they’re planning on stealing some pretty bits of jewelry the guy’s wife holds dear, family heirlooms. His peace of mind. (Not quite a declaration of war, except for all the ways it is.)

“Taking a risk, hiring someone you don’t even know for something like this,” Michael points out, because someone _should_.

He’s only been in town for a few weeks, two, three, who the fuck knows anymore.

Worked with some people who didn’t seem completely terrible, played the part of the mindless grunt. Broke a nose here, knocked out a few teeth there. Nothing big, worth noting, that would earn the interest of people like them. Make them think it was a good idea to bring him on board.

And yet, there’s Gavin with his obnoxious everything in Michael’s face with that stupid smile of his.

“We’ve heard good things about you,” Gavin says, toying with the little paper umbrella that came with his drink. Spins it this way and that way between his fingers. “Sometimes that’s enough.”

That - 

“Jesus Christ,” Michael says, because Gavin is an idiot and so is that crew of his if things are just that simple for them. “You’re all idiots.”

Gavin snorts, corner of his mouth ticking up into this little smile.

“You’re not wrong on that one.”

He grabs a napkin out of the dispenser on the table and writes down an address.

“Tomorrow, three o'clock,” he says, and hands it over. “Don’t be late.”

========

_There was a body._

_One that didn’t have the sense to actually_ be _dead, the shape it was in. All beat up and bloody, clinging to life out of sheer stubbornness._

_And Michael, okay. Michael was about to do the right thing. Call an ambulance to let the professionals deal with things, when the guy grabbed his wrist and asked him not to._

_Got this look to him like Michael was the asshole and told him he didn’t need a hospital._

_Like wow, no, he always had blood on the outside and liked his nose being broken -have you seen how crazy it makes the ladies? You should try it sometime, really._

_Got all defensive when Michael called him on it, because seriously,_ no _, and it turned into a whole thing. Michael arguing with an idiot in an alley who’d clearly had his ass handed to him. Some stupid fucker who had to be involved in some shady shit to be so against having someone with proper medical training pop his shoulder back into place and fix whatever else was wrong with him. (That whole bit where the cops would eventually come into play.)_

_“I’m fine,” he’d said, smile that pulled at the cut in his lip, fresh blood dripping down his chin. “Just peachy.”_

_“Bullshit,” Michael said, and helped the asshole to his feet because his apartment was close by and Michael was on the First Aid Squad in high school._

========

The Fakes have a fancy penthouse, all shiny and neat and stupid expensive.

The kind of place you see in magazine spreads telling you how awful a human being you are and just look at what you could have had if you weren’t such a terrible piece of shit. (Or maybe Michael’s projecting, whatever.)

Gavin lets him in, but he looks nothing like he did in the bar.

Traded in his douchebag ensemble for an oversize hoodie and ratty sweatpants. Looks like he styled his hair by sticking a fork in an outlet, and all these dark bags under his eyes.

Even his smile when he sees Michael is different. Softer somehow. Less like he’s asking for someone to punch him on principle.

“You actually came,” Gavin says, like he’d thought Michael was going to blow the whole thing off. “I’m surprised.”

Michael looks at Gavin, this little idiot who looks like an actual human being instead of the asshole at the bar, and shrugs.

“What can I say,” he says, letting his gaze slide past him as Gavin’s crew does a piss-poor job of looking like they’re not curious about Michael. “My life is a series of terrible decisions.”

========

_Michael didn’t get horribly murdered in his own apartment for being a Good Samaritan, but he did gain an asshole of a roommate who took up his bed._

_Real bastard who bled on his shit and slept for two days straight after Michael finished patching him up._

_Kept telling him he was fine, not a damn thing wrong with him even as Michael stitched up the gash along his ribs. Barely made a sound when Michael popped his shoulder back into place even though Michael knew for a fact what a bitch it was. Smiled sweet as anything as Michael splinted his fingers, even though it caused his lip to start bleeding again, and goddamn but Michael had never met anyone as stupid as this guy._

_All but shoved painkillers down his throat when he was done because he looked like he needed them no matter how politely he declined._

_And then Michael waited._

_And waited and waited and waited._

_Almost had a fucking heart attack when he went to get a drink of water one night and came back into his living room to find the idiot standing there in the dark like a fucking creeper._

_Just._

_Standing there._

_“The fuck?”_

_“Hi.”_

_Michael staring at the creeper he’d brought home – real fucking smart of him – on his feet and watching Michael like that was a thing normal people did._

_“Is that water?”_

_All soft and hopeful, big sad eyes and this little head tilt, so of course Michael handed the glass over._

_Watched the guy struggle with it the way his hands were bandaged and splinted and awkward. Felt a little like an asshole when the guy just made a sad face at him, and got him a straw because he wasn’t heartless._

========

Gavin introduces him to his crew, and Michael hopes to God they’ve never done any kind of stealth work because they’d be shit at it. Spying on him and Gavin in plain sight they way they’d been when Gavin met him at the door.

They seem... _odd_.

There’s the one Gavin introduces as Jeremy but shakes Michael's hand with a bright “Rimmy Tim!”, like it’s a correction or some kind of verbal tic. The “Twins”, who are unsettling as fuck, and Michael has no idea which one is which seeing as Gavin didn’t specify. Jack, with his incredible beard, and Lindsay with the crazy eyes. 

“Geoff and the Vagabond are out at the moment,” Gavin says, little frown to it. “They’re running a bit late, but since you’re here, why don’t we get started?”

========

_It wasn’t a great start, that little moment in the dark, but Michael learned it was par for the course with the guy._

_Especially when he stumbled over the name he offered Michael. This odd little pause like he had to think about it. (Not a great sign, really, but it wasn’t like Michael had been expecting him to be honest about things.)_

_He slept a lot in the early days, looked sad and pathetic when he was awake because he’d taken quite the beating. Never explained what had happened to him to land him in that alley, and Michael never pushed because it wasn’t his business._

_“So you’re a bounty hunter?”_

_It had been so casual, that question. Like it was just idle curiosity. James happening on Michael when he was doing research on a bounty. Trying to figure out where the asshole would run, who he’d go to, that kind of thing._

_Michael had looked up at that, seen the way James seemed vaguely interested. A new thing to mull over while he waited for the splints on his fingers to come off, for Michael to take the stitches over his ribs out._

_“Something like that, yeah,” Michael had said. “Is that going to be a problem?”_

_James, the creepy motherfucker that he could be, just smiled._

_“Nah,” he’d said, and leaned closer to looks at the windows Michael had open on his laptop. “Seems interesting.”_

========

Geoff and this Vagabond character arrive while Jack is just finishing up explaining the final prep phase. 

The whole heist is ridiculous, these idiots making it far more complicated than it really needs to be, but that’s showmanship Michael supposes. 

He’s about to ask for clarification on a point because he’s not sure the clown disguises are strictly necessary when they hear the front door slam. 

The others don’t seem alarmed by it, but Michael freezes when he hears voices approaching the briefing room. One that must belong to Geoff, the other - 

Michael _knows_ it. 

This deeply amused thing as he bickers with Geoff over something stupid, soft little chuckle that cuts off abruptly when he sees Michael. (It’s been a long time, after all.)

“This is your new friend, Gavin?” Geoff asks, glancing at the creepy fucker in the skull mask before his gaze lands on Michael.

Curious, assessing. 

The Vagabond, however - 

“His name is Michael,” Gavin says, little smile in his voice as he leans over to throw an arm around Michael’s shoulders like they’re old friends. “He thinks we’re mental, by the way.”

Michael snorts, tearing his gaze away from the idiot in the mask to shove Gavin’s arm off him.

“Yeah, well. The fucking clown disguises are kind of a giveaway on that one,” he says. “What the fuck is that all about?”

Gavin squawks indignantly because he’s an idiot. Laughter breaks out around the room as Michael – gently – picks apart his reasoning around that bit of genius.

Smiles sharp and satisfied when Gavin eventually concedes that maybe they won’t need to infiltrate the birthday party the guy’s throwing for his kids as party clowns after all.

“Michael, you’re no fun, Michael,” Gavin says, all sad and utterly crushed, like Michael’s a terrible bully out to ruin all his fun.

“Yeah, well,” Michael says, and catches the Vagabond’s eye for a moment as he looks around the room. “You wouldn’t be the first one to say that.”

========

_James was an idiot._

_One hundred percent, unadulterated idiot, and he went on to prove that fact over and over again like he didn’t know any other way._

_Kept picking at his bandages, and Michael caught him staring at his hands time and again as though he couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t fucking heal already._

_“This may come as a surprise to you,” Michael had said, tired and aching after retrieving a particularly wily little bastard. “But people tend to heal better when they’re not actively trying to undo the healing process.”_

_He’d gotten a wounded look at that, the kind of thing Michael’s little cousins would give him when he wouldn’t let them stay up past their bedtimes. Made them do their homework before they could play video games._

_“Lies,” he’d said, staring woefully at his hands. “Lies and slander.”_

_And Michael – he really should have done something about the fucker. Called someone, done some asking around because people like James didn’t just show up out of nowhere half dead and stubborn as fuck, but the guy was kind of pathetic._

_Had this look to him like the wrong word would spook him, make him run, and Michael was just stupid enough that he didn’t want that to happen. (Told himself he’d put too much time and effort into making sure James hadn’t died, but Michael’s always been shit at lying to himself.)_

_“Whatever,” Michael had said, because – God help him – he liked the idiot with his sad little face and stupid jokes._

_The way he stuck his nose in Michael’s business when he accepted a new bounty, puttered around Michael’s apartment best he could to make up for whatever inconvenience he thought he’d caused him._

_“Pizza or Chinese?”_

_Fuck if he was going to deal with cooking, and God knew James wouldn’t be able to manage on his own._

_“Pizza?” James had asked, all wide-eyed and hopeful because he’d fallen in love with the cheese sticks from Michael’s usual place, and it was cute as hell._

========

Michael had heard about the Vagabond since coming to Los Santos. Listened to other hired guns telling horror stories about running into the guy. Overheard people talking about it in the bars he went to, bits of gossip here and there.

Didn’t really think much of it because he had other things on his mind. How long he could make the money he had stretch, if he should take another job or move on to the next city in his search. (What he thought he was still doing, looking for someone who clearly didn’t want to be found. Why he still gave a shit.)

All these things that painted him as a monster in human form. Brutal and merciless, creepy as fuck and most likely insane. That it was just a matter of time before he turned on the Fakes, bit the hand that fed him the way he had with everyone else he’d worked for in the past.

Michael hadn’t given any of it much thought because he wasn’t planning on sticking around, but after seeing the guy person he can’t help but think Los Santos is populated by idiots. (He might have some inside information they’re lacking, but still.)

It’s clear as day the fucker’s got a soft spot a mile wide for his crew. Puts up with shit someone with his kind of reputation wouldn’t, and that’s just what they let someone who isn’t a full-time member part of their exclusive little club see.

Michael doesn’t get paired with the Vagabond for the prep-work.

That honor goes to one of the others while Michael usually gets picked to work with Jack or Geoff.

Pretends he doesn’t notice the way everyone’s caught on to the fact there’s definite tension between Michael and their Vagabond when the two of them are in a room together.

The way the fucker stares at Michael sometimes. Quiet and still and creepy as fuck. The way Michael looks back, daring him to say something.

Obvious as fuck, but no one asks. (Might think it’s just a thing that happens when they bring in hired guns like Michael, or maybe it’s something else. Who fucking knows.)

The Fakes make sure to keep the two of them apart as much as they can, like they think they’re going to go for each other’s throats the moment they don’t.

Gavin tries to come at it sideways with Michael, like he thinks he can sneak it past Michael’s guard. Just be casual and nonchalant, start in with some random comment and shift gears halfway through like he thinks Michael won’t notice.

Jeremy’s more direct, but to be fair, when he broaches the topic it’s usually after he’s got some booze in him. New phase of the prep-work seen to and a day or so before they can move on to the next, so why not crack open a beer and celebrate a job well done?

Doesn’t seem to realize Michael’s tolerance is higher than his, so it’s more amusing than irritating when he nudges Michael's shoulder and asks if the Vagabond killed someone he knew or something.

“What?” Jeremy asks, noticeable slurring to his words. “It’s a valid question with him.”

Michael rolls his eyes, because yeah, he bets it is.

It might have been easier if it was, to be honest. More clear-cut, none of this complicated bullshit that has Michael wondering what the fuck he’s doing.

“No,” he says, like the others aren’t waiting to hear his answer. “Nothing like that.”

========

_When the bandages did come off, James didn’t take off the moment he could the way Michael had been expecting._

_No._

_The fucker stuck around, made sad little faces at Michael when he eventually asked him what the fuck he was still doing there, as though both of them knew didn’t know he'd been itching to leave for a while. Gotten antsy with it, like he was expecting something to happen if he didn’t._

_“Trying to get rid of me already?” he’d asked, honest to God pouting at Michael. “That hurts.”_

_Michael – he’s always been a sad sack of shit._

_Didn’t put up enough effort into release the fucker back into the wild the way he should have. (James was dangerous and it showed. Little things that added up over time, because Michael’s an idiot, sure, but he’s not stupid. Not that kind, anyway.)_

_Didn’t protest(The story was a load of shit, but James seemed attached to it.)t nearly enough when James showed an interest in helping him with his work, claimed he had all the right credentials, but wouldn't you know it? He lost them in the mugging gone wrong in that alley, and it would take a while to get replacements._

_“What’s the deal with this guy?”_

_Another bounty and James taking an interest for whatever reason._

_Curiosity. Boredom. Something else, maybe._

_Michael didn’t know, and he didn’t care, even if he should have._

========

Geoff pulls Michael aside one day, sits him down in his office and stares at him for a long moment.

“I need to know,” Geoff says, hands folded together on the table. “Michael, I need to know if whatever the fuck is going on between you and the Vagabond is going to be a problem.”

Michael sighs, long and low, because fuck if that isn’t a loaded question.

Geoff and the others know what he used to do. No reason to keep it a secret when Gavin or the Twins would be able to find out without much trouble. Hell, a quick internet search would have given them everything they needed to know about him.

They don’t seem to think it’s worthy of concern, which had been both confusing and a little alarming. (First off, just how fucking stupid were they for letting him in like this? And secondly, how fucking stupid was he to just waltz into the lion’s den like this?)

No more ignoring the elephant in the room, it seems, which makes sense. Michael’s been working with the Fakes for a while now. Gotten to know them, and in spite of himself he likes them. Thinks there are worse people he could be working for right now, and he appreciates the fact that Geoff is concerned he might fuck it all up because he and the Vagabond have some kind of history the others aren’t privy to.

Geoff just waits. Surprisingly – or maybe not so surprisingly – patient as Michael thinks about it.

Shoves aside that tangle of hurt he’s been carrying with him all this time and really thinks about it. 

For all that he’d never seen this twist in his life coming – and Christ, what his mom will have to say about it if she ever finds out he’s a criminal now – he’s not exactly bothered by it.

Maybe he was bound to go this way sooner or later, loose morals or whatever people like to call it. The way he’d never given much of a shit for the proper authorities, played fast and loose with the law when he was working. 

Let some of his bounties slip through his fingers, took the hit to his reputation and wallet because he’s always had a problem when it come to choosing between upholding the law and doing the right thing, fucking sue him.

He’s worked odd jobs here and there since he took on his last bounty. Worked for the disreputable sort a few times before he’d gotten to Los Santos. Did things he might not have done a few years ago and, and didn’t lose sleep over it.

His only real objection to accepting the job offer Gavin had for him had more to do with staying in one spot too long and any moral or ethical opposition.

“Well,” Michael says, because it’s complicated as hell. “I doubt we’re going to be BFFs, but I don’t have a problem working with the guy.”

He really doesn’t.

They’ve got issues to deal with, things to talk about, but it’s not like they’ve really had the chance to do that. (Like the idiot’s given him the chance to, but Michael’s persistent and it’ll happen sooner or later now that he’s found him again. He’ll make sure of it.)

Geoff gives him an incredulous look, and Michael laughs, because wow, yeah.

“Well that’s just great,” Geoff says. “Very reassuring, thanks.”

========

_Adrenaline’s a funny thing, gets the blame for a lot of bullshit it has nothing to do with._

_Had James red-faced and stammering excuses when he kissed Michael after a close call one day._

_The two of them chasing after a bounty who was more of a challenge than a forger or some deadbeat dad. Criminal record that included cute little things like manslaughter thanks to one hell of a lawyer and a corrupt judge, Michael bleeding from a lucky slash of a knife._

_Hearts hammering away in their chests and all the things they’d been avoiding talking about dragged out into the open with the worst timing_

_“It’s the adrenaline,” James had said, hands so, so careful as they cradled Michael's face. “That’s all it is.”_

_“Adrenaline, right,” Michael had agreed, pulling James in for another kiss like that excuse of his made any kind of sense with everything else between them. “Makes perfect sense.”_

_(Didn’t stop it from hurting when he woke up alone the next morning. The slow realization that James had left like none of it meant a damn thing.)_

========

“How’d you end up in Los Santos, Michael?”

Michael looks over at Jack. Calm and relaxed, fingers tapping along to the song playing on the radio while they wait for the light to change.

Michael’s earpiece itches, and he’s all too aware of the others listening in. Idle chatter while they get in position for the heist, nervous energy and camaraderie he envies.

“Chasing a bounty,” he says, and grins at the look it gets him. 

The moment of calm before the storm, so to speak, and then Gavin and Jeremy are demanding to know who he’s been chasing all this time. Why someone is worth that much effort, and did he ever think he’d find him? (The Twins and Lindsay arguing about something that has nothing to do with anything, because of course they are.)

Michael snorts, eyes going to the rearview mirror where he can see the Vagabond watching him.

“Yeah,” he answers. “I have a pretty good feeling about that one.”

========

_Michael wallowed for a while after James left. (Once an idiot, always an idiot.)_

_Angry at himself for being surprised about the way things turned out when some part of him had known it couldn’t last. (This odd sort of restlessness to James that had gotten worse over time.)_

_Threw himself into his work, took on increasingly dangerous bounties until he got a reputation for being able to handle the hard ones. Got handed one that no one wanted to touch, felt it was better left to the cops._

_Some asshole with an uncanny resemblance to James with a list of crimes that included a fair amount of murder among other things._

_A fucking monster of a human being, irredeemable piece of shit._

_Michael looked around at the state of his life, and then he’d packed up and left because God knows it wasn’t going to be easy tracking the fucker down. (There were a few things he had to say to James when he found him, reasons why he couldn’t not go after him.)_

========

The heist doesn’t go exactly as planned. They get what they’re after, but the cops are on them before they know it. Force them to scatter and Michael and the Vagabond hole up in one of the crew’s safehouses.

Shitty little place with terrible wallpaper and questionable carpet stains, but the cops aren’t busting down the doors just yet, so that’s a thing.

Problem is, it puts the two of them in close proximity without one of the others to act as a buffer, and there’s not a lot for them to do until someone sounds the all clear. 

“’James?’”

The Vagabond twitches, _flinches_ , and it has nothing to do with the minor injures they both sustained in the earlier clusterfuck.

He doesn’t answer long enough that Michael thinks he won’t. That he’s just going to keep acting like oh, wow, no, there's nothing at all weird going on between them, everything’s _fine_ , but then - 

“It’s my first name,” the Vagabond says, watching Michael like he’s not sure what he’ll do, how he’ll react “But I don’t use it much these days.”

There’s a story behind that, Michael’s sure. Might have something to do with his criminal record, might not.

“I’d noticed,” Michael says, and waves a hand at the whole Vagabond getup.

That gets a sigh, this tired little thing that hurts to hear.

“Ryan,” the Vagabond says as he takes his mask off, and this time he doesn’t stumble over the name at all. “I’m Ryan.”

He’s wearing face paint, a skull peeking though the skin. Cold, haughty, and it accentuates his eyes. Explains where some of the rumors Michael’s heard about him come from.

Michael’s gaze drops to Ryan’s hands. Sees the way his fingers are curled tight around the edges of his mask, the way he’s standing like he expects Michael to haul off and punch him. 

He _should_ , Michael knows. Ryan’s given him more than enough reason to. Turned his life upside down without realizing it, but that’s not what he’s here for. 

Maybe he would have, in the beginning, but he’s had a long time to think. Consider what he wants to tell Ryan, things he never got a chance to.

The reason he didn't give up and head back to Jersey after the first week, and the one after that. Had him following whatever lead he could, the tiniest hint, whisper of a rumor until the weeks turned into months, into however long it’s been now. 

Too fuckin long, too fucking far to go back now, and hell if he knows what he’s going to do after this.

“It wasn’t the adrenaline,” Michael says, because he’s tired.

He’s been chasing after Ryan for a long damn time now, burned off a lot of his anger along the way leaving this hollow ache behind. 

Scrapes up whatever courage he has left to him and lays it all out for Ryan to do with what he will.

“It was never about the adrenaline, you stupid fuck.”

Michael’s never claimed to be a poet of any kind, doesn’t have the words for it.

Ryan just looks at him, doesn’t say a fucking thing.

Just when Michael’s about to give up, realize he was stupider than he thought to expect this (them) to amount to anything, Ryan clears his throat.

Looks a little like he wants to point out the hypocrisy of Michael deciding to have this little heart-to-heart _now_ of all times, but he doesn’t. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Ryan winces, gaze skittering away from Michael's for a moment before he gets a grip on things and looks him in the eye again.

Steady, determined. 

(Scared as hell.)

“I didn’t - “ he breaks off, voice failing him for a moment, runs a hand over his face before continuing. “You know what I am now.”

This pause to it, like he’s just dropped some sort of groundbreaking revelation on Michael.

“Fuck off,” Michael snaps. “You think I didn’t figure some of it out before?”

He didn’t know all the gritty details, sure. Didn’t know what Ryan had done, but he had an idea. Could fit the pieces together for himself, add two and two to get the right answer if he cared enough to try.

He was hardly subtle with the things he said and did. The way he was whenever they brought a bounty in. Finding some reason not to be there for the final hand-off, always somewhere else when anyone with a badge happened to be around. 

Other things that added up, and Michael not giving a shit about any of it because Ryan never gave him a reason to. 

Ryan has the gall to look surprised, like he honestly wasn’t expecting Michael’s reaction. Thought Michael would play his part and be properly scandalized by knowing the truth, finally seeing the kind of person Ryan really is and do the smart thing.

“I’m - “

“You’re an idiot in a mask,” Michael says, because that’s the truth when it comes down to it. “If you could just get over yourself, you’d be able to see that too.”

He must have hit a nerve, struck a chord, whatever the hell people like to say because Ryan - 

Ryan looks _pissed._ Eyes narrowing as he tosses his mask aside and strides forward, backing Michael up against the wall to glare at him. 

He’s a big guy and he knows it. Uses it to his advantage, and it’s intimidating as all hell – or would be, if Michael didn’t know him. (Trust him, stupid as it is.)

“Is that supposed to be scary, asshole?” 

Ryan holds the glare a moment longer. Pale, pale eyes in that creepy mask of his, this little growl in his chest like he really thinks that’s going to spook Michael after he’s seen him struggling with a fucking bendy straw.

“You - “ Ryan breaks off, grabs the front of Michael’s jacket and presses him against the wall, all that menace he’s trying to project falling apart as Michael’s eyebrows go up in disbelief. “Why the fuck are you so stubborn?”

Pot, kettle.

“Hey,” Michael says, and reaches up to smudge Ryan’s face paint, pull his fingers through it to leave streaks behind. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but you’re a goddamned moron.”

Ryan makes this noise in his throat, a mix between frustration and exasperation, something that might be this ragged little bit of laughter tossed in as he stares at Michael.

And Michael, okay. 

Kind of an idiot, because he tugs Ryan down for a kiss.

Thinks for one long, terrible moment he thinks he’s managed to fuck things up. That Ryan doesn’t feel that way about him anymore (it’s been a long fucking time), but then Ryan’s pressing closer. Kissing Michael back with this edge of desperation to it that hits Michael hard, makes him realize he made the right choice going after Ryan.

========

“It’s not the adrenaline,” Ryan says the next morning, like he’s not really sure he believes it - _them_. Can put any kind of faith behind it.

Michael presses a kiss to Ryan’s shoulder, like it doesn’t hurt to hear him sound like that. 

“No,” he says, will keep saying until the idiot believes him no matter how long it takes. “It’s not.”


End file.
